As remembered firsthand by Neil Gale, Ph.D.
My mission? To find something old, something odd, and something I could convince my parents was a “great deal.”
When I was eight, I didn't talk much at shows — I watched, and I listened.
I listened to the dealer to gauge the buyer.
I observed how dealers interacted, how they described their items, and how they responded when someone asked for a lower price.
I learned that the best buyers weren’t loud. They were kind.
They made the dealer feel good about letting go of something they’d cared for. That’s how you earn trust — and many times get a better price.
I never bought on Saturdays. I'd walk through the whole show, take mental notes, and leave with nothing. Even if I really wanted something, I'd wait.
On Sunday afternoon, after lunch, when dealers were tired and packing up, I'd come back.
That's when they're ready to really make deals. They don't want to take it home. And they didn't bring it to show it off or to keep. Remember: Dealers are not collectors! Dealer-collected items don't show up at shows for sale.
I learned this one early. You write your offer on a piece of paper. Fold it. Slide it across the counter. It's like saying, "This price is so good, let's keep it between us." If they wrote back, I'd scratch it out and write my new number if I was still interested in the item.
Then I'd look at the woman I was with, nod slightly toward the door to look inconspicuous, or leave and wait. It always worked. Because it wasn't just about money; it was about respect.
If the item is a gift, inform the dealer. "They'll cherish it for the rest of their life."
No dealer wants to pack items they brought in to sell.
Barb saw a slide bracelet she loved at first sight. I could see it in her eyes and in her posture.
An older couple was also looking at it. It was on the lady's wrist. The man says, "I'll give you $6,000 for the bracelet!"
The dealer never answered. He removed the slide bracelet from the lady's wrist and started putting it away. I stepped in, calm and polite: “May we look at that slide bracelet, please?”
He put it on Barb's wrist. A professional move.
I looked him in the eye and said, “What's the best you can do?” He thought for a second, pulled out his calculator and said, "$4,000."
He said $4,000 because I treated him with dignity, and he still made a good profit. That’s the real secret. Be kind. Make the dealer believe you'll cherish it. Show your excitement and express your gratitude profusely. “I come every year. May I have your business card, and I'll see you next year. You have exquisite pieces. Thank you again, [first name].”
Sometimes, silence speaks louder than words. If I saw something I liked, I didn't rush. I'd hold it gently, turn it over, and pause. That pause made the dealer nervous — they'd start talking. They'd tell me the item's story, its origin, its quirks. And sometimes, they'd lower the price before I even asked.
Because the pause said: I’m thinking. I’m serious. I might walk away. It's not a trick. It's patience. And patience is power.
This was my secret weapon. I'd ask, "What's your favorite piece here?" Their eyes would light up. They'd point to something with pride. And that's when I'd learn the most — about craftsmanship, rarity, and sentiment. Sometimes, they'd even offer me a deal on something else, just because I showed genuine interest.
Dealers love to talk about what they're passionate about. And if you listen, you’ll learn more than any price tag can tell you.
Every show, I gave myself a challenge: Find the best thing I could buy for $10. It wasn't about spending — it was about hunting. I'd dig through boxes, ask questions, and look for overlooked gems. Once, I found a vintage Bakelite button collection. Another time, a hand-painted tin toy.
The dealers respected the challenge. They’d smile and say, “Let’s see what we can do for your ten bucks.” It made the hunting personal. And it made the win sweeter.
One soft drink? You're browsing.
Two soft drinks? You're negotiating.
Three soft drinks? You're winning.
If the dealer brings you a third, you've earned the gem and their respect.
Dealers know their inventory. They know what it's worth. But they don't know what will motivate you to buy. That's your power. They brought it to sell. They didn't bring it to keep.
So please treat them with kindness, speak with care, and let them feel good about letting go. Allow them to teach you about the item and why it's priced the way it is.
Or outright ask why it's "so pricey" when you've seen others for less.
On the road, I found an antique mall. I go in! They usually don't know what they have. The dealers stay home, and the antique mall will call the seller for their best price.
Bring your web-enabled cell phone. Go to Copilot.AI, snap a photo, and send it to the AI. Ask your AI about the picture. What is the market value? How rare is it? And any other questions you may have. AI may not know much, but it will honestly tell you so.
I was in Volo Antique Malls, in Round Lake, IL. It's really about 95% collectibles. Full of junk. If an item is in a locked cabinet, it's worth something.
I spotted a pair of earrings that looked like they were set with emeralds, diamonds, and a non-cultured pearl. A mall employee opens the locked case and hands me the earrings.
They are weighty. They are filthy. I spit on a Kleenex and wipe away years of grime. The posts are the old screw-on type. No gold markings. No AIs yet. I go by my shopping experience.
The price is $120. The mall worker calls the dealer. "I have a gentleman who is interested in Item #SR00254. It's for his wife. What is your best price? OK, I'll let you know the outcome."
I'm told $60. I don't pay taxes because I have an antique dealer's state tax number until a buyer pays them. On the way home, I stop at my favorite jeweler. I ask for a steam cleaning. As a regular customer, it's free.
Antique shows weren't just about stuff. They were about people.
Every item had a story. And every dealer wanted to feel like they were passing it on to someone who got it. I got it. I understood the nuances. And I still do.
This is a simplistic lesson in antiquing. It's relatable and reliable. And... Don't be a jackass!
by Neil Gale, Ph.D.







